Charlotte washed and dressed with renewed confidence. As unexpectedly wistful as she’d felt upon realizing she’d never see Mr. Fairfax again, her life balanced on the precipice of a huge, positive change. With luck, today was the day she’d meet Laird Dìonadair, her father.

Or at least find out where he lived.

She fastened her jeweled earrings to her ears, then concealed the matching necklace in one of the pouches strapped beneath her bound breasts. The bandages had always been the most important part of her wardrobe.

Years ago, she’d started hiding her curves to disguise her resemblance to her mother, but the tight band of linen had quickly become a convenient place to hide objects of value she didn’t wish to be stolen. Particularly along the weather-beaten cobblestone alley where she had grown up, or on the crowded mail coach she’d taken to leave London forever.

Here in Scotland, however, wearing the rubies was a necessary risk. It was the only way to gain the laird’s attention.

Because he’d left before she was born, Charlotte wouldn’t be able to recognize her father even if they ran into each other on the street. He and his relatives, on the other hand, would immediately recognize family jewels. The rubies were the key to success.

Her father would recognize them as the jewels he’d gifted to Charlotte’s mother. By which he would recognize Charlotte herself, and immediately invite her to be part of his family.

She hoped.

All she wanted was to be someone who mattered. She didn’t need the laird’s money. Not if she could have his love. Or at least his acceptance.

Her father was not just a laird. Everything her mother had ever told her indicated he was a kind and honorable man who always did the right thing. It wasn’t his fault he was never told of Charlotte’s birth. Once they met, he would embrace her and exclaim over her and proclaim himself proud to have a daughter. He was that kind of man. She sucked in a shaky, hopeful breath.

She was mere days or even hours away from meeting her respectable father. From being welcomed somewhere. From being launched as a valued member of real society. Gone were the years of being shunned and looked down upon. She would be someone else at last. Someone accepted without question. Perhaps even loved. The thought of becoming part of his family made her dizzy with joy. Her childhood dreams were finally close enough to touch.

Thanks to Mr. Fairfax, Charlotte’s gowns were perfectly ironed and already tucked neatly away in her trunk. She placed a few final toiletries on top and closed the lid with determination. The day was beautiful. Perhaps even perfect. She would find a maid, find a coach, and then find her father.

A sudden knock rattled the chamber door.

She frowned. The innkeeper’s knock hadn’t sounded so frantic last night, when the older man hadn’t known if his debts would be paid. What on earth could he want now? She opened the door.

To her surprise, the wild-eyed man in the corridor was not the innkeeper at all, but Mr. Fairfax.

“Apologies,” he said as he swung his valise into the chamber and secured the lock. “You must let me in.”

She blinked in confusion. “I was just leaving, I’m afraid. If you’ll be so kind as to help me with my trunk, you may stay in the room until noon. The account is paid.” She smiled up at him. “How was breakfast?”

“Miss Devon.” He scrubbed his face with his hands, then grabbed her shoulders. “No. Not Miss Devon. Mrs. Fairfax. May God forgive me.”

She laughed. “I think we can dispense with that fiction now. Once we both go our separate ways, there’s no reason for—”

“We’re married.” His fingers were tight, his eyes glassy with panic. “Look at me. We’re married.”

Her smile faded. “What in heaven’s name are you nattering on about?”

He released her and fell back against the wainscoting, his face full of misery. “Scots law. I’m talking about Scots law. If two people affirm aloud that they are married to the other, that act legally has the same weight as marriage in a church, after banns and before God.”

“It… What?” Her stomach dropped. “We c-can’t be married.”

He rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t trust the source either, so I awakened Leviston, who confirmed my fears. Even had the stones to offer me an extra round of drinks at Boodle’s to celebrate, the rotter.”

She staggered backwards in growing horror. “No. This can’t be happening.”

He grimaced. “You have no idea.”

Her lungs gasped for air as if she were drowning. She clutched her chest. Impossible. How could she be married to a total stranger? All the joy seeped from her limbs.

There went her dreams of marrying someone who loved her. Who wanted her. Who could have had his pick of women, but whose heart belonged solely to her. Who knew her inside and out, and was not ashamed to claim her as his own.

Her hands trembled. Fear clawed through her. How could this possibly be true?

“We need to speak with a barrister.” She hugged herself. “Immediately.”

Mr. Fairfax ran a hand through his hair. “We’re in Scotland. I don’t know any barristers. If we were in London…”

“If we were in London, we wouldn’t even need to have this conversation. Come.” She motioned him out of her chambers and into the corridor, then turned to lock the door behind them. “I do know a barrister. I met his wife earlier this week.”

Mrs. Oldfield had been asking the ladies in the common salon whether they thought book clubs or sewing circles to be more prestigious. Charlotte had declined to opine on the more meritorious, and instead offered suggestions on how to improve attendance and engage interest with either style. Mrs. Oldfield proclaimed Charlotte the most level-headed young woman of her acquaintance, and had invited her to tea that very afternoon, as if Charlotte were an actual lady of equal standing.

And now Charlotte would have to confess to Mrs. Oldfield’s husband that she’d accidentally handfasted herself to a perfect stranger. Mortification heated Charlotte’s cheeks. Shoulders tight, she turned and strode toward the stairs.

When she and Mr. Fairfax reached the common area, neither of the Oldfields were present. Charlotte had the innkeeper send a footman with a note requesting an audience with Mr. Oldfield, then settled down to wait at a small table with Mr. Fairfax. She clasped her hands to hide their tremble.

Up until today, the inn’s common salon had been home to some of Charlotte’s best memories in recent history. The further she journeyed from London, the less likely other travelers were to guess she wasn’t the respectable miss she pretended to be. For almost a week, she had spent delightful afternoons in this very room, chatting with the other women over tea, and developing a small reputation as a fine sounding board for ladies seeking advice.

And now, the only advice that mattered was whatever Mr. Oldfield suggested to get them out of this dreadful pickle. Charlotte hadn’t intended ever to see Mr. Fairfax again, much less marry him. As soon as they undid the damage, the better.

His green eyes were beseeching. “Miss Devon, when I claimed we were married, I was only trying to help. A crowd had formed, and making them believe there was nothing remarkable to see was the fastest way to disperse them.”

“I know why you did it.” She twisted her earring nervously. “I thought the same thing you did. It’s why I went along.”

“I never thought it would mean…” Mr. Fairfax blew out a slow breath.

Charlotte closed her eyes. Of course he hadn’t thought a meaningless lie would legally bind him to a total stranger. What reasonable person would? She opened her eyes. This was a disaster.

Married. No worse farce could have befallen them. Who was this man? Would he want her?

Certainly not once he knew the truth. And then what would that leave them?

“Listen.” Mr. Fairfax hesitated, then took her hands in his. “The situation is more complicated than you know.”

“More complicated than us being married?” she said bleakly. God save them both.

“Vastly.” His visage was pale. “It’s one thing to be penniless…”

She swallowed the sour taste in her throat. Penniless. The thought terrified her. As her mother’s youth and beauty had dried up—and as Charlotte’s resolve not to follow in her footsteps had grown—their once-comfortable home had become old and shabby. But they had never been penniless. The townhouse was paid for, and her mother had saved enough in Campbell and Coutts to ensure she and her daughter would at least have bread and firewood for the rest of her life. But it hadn’t come to that.

Her mother’s days of fireworks and theatre might be long gone, but Charlotte had never lacked for food and clothing. The house might be worn at the edges, but Charlotte had always been presentable. It hadn’t been enough, of course. Even if she were wearing her nicest gown, every nose turned up whenever she walked by.

Somehow, people knew she wasn’t good enough.

On good days, they wouldn’t belittle her into tears. On bad days… Well. She certainly knew what it was like to have doors slammed in her face. The world was huge, but mostly consisted of places a whore’s bastard daughter was not allowed to go.

Yet, she’d never been beggared.

“It’s one thing to be penniless,” Mr. Fairfax repeated, appearing to gather strength. “But my situation is significantly worse. An improbable run of poor fortune struck me at the gaming tables, and I now owe two thousand pounds I cannot begin to repay.”

Horror filled her. Two thousand pounds? An unattainable sum. They were ruined before they’d even begun. Worse, if Mr. Fairfax could not fulfill his debts of honor, he was no gentleman at all.

She yanked her hands from his and took a step backwards. Their union had done the impossible and made her status even worse.

Ruined. Her dreams of marrying into a respectable family gone forever. A husband she didn’t want. Debts she could not afford.

He’d wrecked both their lives.

“You can have your winnings back,” she said, her voice bleak. To her, last night’s windfall of two hundred pounds had been a staggering sum to win at the gaming tables. For him to owe ten times as much money… How many games must he have lost? “Two thousand pounds… I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of resources.”

“I know you don’t,” he said, his tone earnest. “I wouldn’t ask it of you even if you did. Nor do I want your purse or anything else of yours.”

“You should take last night’s winnings,” she said with a sigh. She hadn’t expected to play, much less win that much. She should have stayed focused on finding her father. “That two hundred pounds would have been yours if you hadn’t let me back in the game.”

“I cannot.” Mr. Fairfax ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “My debts are mine, not yours.”

“If this marriage stands, the debts will be ours. At least take your own purse,” she insisted, still unable to believe this was happening. “I won’t be able to use it without feeling as though every penny I spend is consigning you to prison.”

“Fine. But keep your own purse. It doesn’t belong to me.”

A shadow fell across the table.

“Good morning, Mr. Oldfield,” Charlotte said warmly. “Please, take a seat. This gentleman and I have a quick legal concern we’d like to talk over with you.”

“A legal concern, is it?” The barrister took the seat opposite Charlotte. “In that case, I shall have to charge for my professional advice. Ten pounds should do.”

“Ten—” Mr. Fairfax choked, his face empurpling. No doubt he considered the loss of each pound note would only dig his grave ever deeper.

“Here.” She peeled the notes from her own purse and slid them across the table. No matter what fee the barrister charged, they had to understand their predicament—and how to stop it.

Mr. Oldfield pocketed the banknotes. “Very well, then. How may I help you?”

“Are you familiar with Scots law?” Mr. Fairfax asked. “Specifically, the laws governing irregular marriages?”

Mr. Oldfield’s startled gaze flew from Mr. Fairfax’s wan countenance to Charlotte’s. “Oh, dear.”

She nodded. “I’m afraid so. Please tell me it isn’t so.”

The barrister leaned forward. “What, precisely, has happened? Tell me the exact wording you used.”

Mr. Fairfax grimaced. “I repeatedly said, ‘I am her husband’ in front of about a dozen witnesses.”

Mr. Oldfield raised his brows toward Charlotte.

“And I said, ‘I am his wife.’ In front of the same witnesses.”

It had seemed so clever at the time. A tiny lie so forgettable, she’d given it no further thought once she was back in her guest chamber.

A lie poised to ruin her life.

“In that case…” The barrister leaned back in his seat. “I’m afraid you’ve made a binding contract. You are indeed married.”

“What?” Charlotte’s blood ran cold. It couldn’t be!

Mr. Fairfax looked as if he might swoon right out of his chair. “How? Why?”

The barrister folded his hands. “That section of Scots law was enacted to protect innocents from those who would take advantage of them. Scotland has many remote villages without means for a traditional marriage. A perfect breeding ground for unscrupulous curs who like to prey on girls, by assuring naive maidens they’ll be properly wed at the first opportunity—only to disappear from town as soon as they’ve divested her of her purity.”

“It’s a law to protect women.” Charlotte gritted her teeth at the irony. “And it’s trapped us in an unwanted marriage.”

Mr. Oldfield inclined his head. “The law has done wonders to save innocent virgins from ruin. If a man claims his intention is to wed her, the couple need only announce their union before witnesses for it to be legal from that moment forward. It’s also known as the Law of Mutual Agreement.”

“Not well known,” Mr. Fairfax muttered. “I certainly had no idea what I was getting into.”

“Is there nothing that can be done?” Charlotte asked the barrister. “Can we not simply pretend it never occurred? By mutual agreement?”

Mr. Oldfield frowned. “The two of you are technically and legally married. That said, if those who witnessed you publicly presenting yourselves as married are strangers whom you are unlikely to ever see again, and who have no knowledge of your names…” He hesitated. “I cannot advise you to lie about a legally binding marriage, because any future union would be bigamy, not to mention the property laws governing married couples. But if there is truly no chance of the incident ever being mentioned again—”

“Thank you ever so much,” Charlotte gushed as hope filled her once more. “That is exactly what we—”

“—are not in a position to do,” Mr. Fairfax finished grimly. His countenance had drained of all color.

“Why ever not?” she demanded, as panic once more slid across her skin.

He pushed his hair from his wan brow. “You may recall that I owe quite a bit of money to a powerful man?”

Her stomach dropped. “He’s here?”

“Not him. The ruffians he sent to fetch his blunt from me by force.”

“They threatened you?”

“They tried to. I managed to buy an extra fortnight before the debt comes due.” He met her gaze. “But they witnessed our ill-fated announcement. It’s ironclad.”

Ironclad. A cursed leg-shackle binding her to a man who gambled as if he were on holiday, despite owing two thousand pounds to a moneylender capable of sending enforcers to collect by any means necessary.

They were married. There was no way out.

Charlotte’s head swam. Now she would never know what a love match might be like.

That fantasy wasn’t the only thing to be ripped away. She’d also been robbed of free will by the overly helpful Scots law. Marriage was to be one of the few facets in her life where she might have been able to decide something for herself. Gone. Now she would be the property of a stranger. This stranger.

Blind with panic, she shut her eyes and tried to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Her calming ritual could not change facts, but it always helped her to think. There must be a silver lining.

Mr. Fairfax cleared his throat. “The real problem is…”

She fought to keep hold of her serenity. “None of what you’ve already said is a problem?”

“The bigger problem,” he conceded with a wince, “is that, legally, what’s yours is now mine. And what’s mine can legally be seized to pay my debts. Such as your jewelry.”

She froze, then touched one of her ruby earrings with trembling fingers. “No.”

“I’m afraid so.” The barrister gave her a kindly expression. “The law of coverture states that a husband and wife are, legally speaking, one person—consolidated under the husband. Mr. Fairfax cannot give your jewels and money back, because you can no longer own anything separate from him. I’m afraid he’s right. If Mr. Fairfax is forced to surrender all valuable objects in his possession to pay a debt, your jewelry is now his jewelry, and therefore subject to surrender.”

“No,” she gasped, touching her jewels with trembling fingers. “These are all I have.”

Mr. Fairfax nodded, his expression serious. “We can’t let that happen.”

Not ever. Her throat grew thick with fear. “What do we do?”

“I’ve bought us a fortnight. At that point, I have to pay up or go to debtors’ prison. But that’s my kettle of fish. In the meantime, we’ll extricate you from the web. Your possessions will be your own.”

No, they wouldn’t. Mr. Oldfield had just said it was impossible. She tucked her arms about her chest. “How?”

Mr. Fairfax took a deep breath. “However you like. Do you want a divorce? I’ll give you any grounds you choose. Accuse me of infertility, infidelity, impotence, disruptive snoring… whatever you please. I will not contest it. We can start the process today. You’ll be rid of this nightmare forever.”

Would she? Charlotte stared back at him in silence. Her head ached. She hadn’t even broken her fast, and was already not only married, but considering divorce.

She turned to Mr. Oldfield. “Can you help us?”

“With a full parliamentary divorce?” The barrister’s expression was skeptical. “Do you have the time and money required to achieve one?”

“I don’t have any money.” She gestured toward Mr. Fairfax. “It all belongs to him now.”

He took her hands. “I promise you. If I cannot raise enough blunt to keep me from debtors’ prison, I will spend every penny we do have on getting us a clean divorce, so that you aren’t bound to me in any shape or form. Claim any grounds you choose.”

“Note that the proceedings are both expensive and public,” Mr. Oldfield put in. “Only a few cases are tried because it can take two years to pass a private bill of divorcement before parliament and receive full ecclesiastical dissolution. Even if Mr. Fairfax accepts all blame in a criminal conversion adultery case, you will both become social pariahs from that day forward.”

Charlotte slid her hands from Anthony’s and buried her face in her palms.

Had she not thought, just a few moments ago, that marriage to a gambler who did not fulfill his debts of honor would sink her status to new depths? Divorce would be even worse.

She wouldn’t just lose what little social standing she might have. She would be unmarriageable. Even more so than she was now. Once the divorce was final, no respectable man would want her. Most churches wouldn’t even perform a wedding ceremony if the bride was a divorcée.

No friends. No husband. No future.

“No.” She gazed back at Anthony bleakly. “Divorce leaves me in an even worse position than marriage to you.”

He flinched as her blade struck true. “I feared that was the case. Nonetheless, I had to offer. You should have some choice in the matter. As much as either of us do.”

“It’s not entirely your fault,” she admitted. His debts were his doing, but the lies to save her reputation… “I went along with the playacting.”

“It doesn’t matter. We might share the blame for our inadvertent marriage, but my dire straits are not your burden to bear. There has to be…” His face lit. “How about an annulment? Much easier than a divorce, and none of the stigma. If you’re worried about the possibility of a future church marriage, I know of no cases where an annulment prevented a bride from—”

“My reputation would still be permanently ruined,” she pointed out dully. “We shared a bedchamber after claiming we were married. Last night, it was an innocent lark that I fully intended to deny in the future, should the question ever arise. But an annulment would make an official public record.”

“Then you’re stuck with me?” he asked quietly.

“We’re stuck with each other, I suppose. For the next fortnight.” Slowly, deliberately, she calmed her racing pulse. There was time to think. They were in this together for a fortnight, at least. She turned to the barrister. “We do have grounds for annulment, correct?”

Mr. Oldfield lifted his palm. “Again, I cannot advise you to swear to untruths before parliament. But I will mention that full ecclesiastical annulment can be granted on the basis of adultery, consanguinity, insanity at the time of marriage, or non-consummation due to impotence.”

“Insanity seems about right,” she muttered. “Should we acquire separate accommodation? Would that help us prove non-consummation if necessary?”

He shook his head. “Annulments have been granted to couples who have been married for months. In your case, it’s only a overnight. The point of contention isn’t whether you and your husband sleep in the same bed. It’s whether he was capable of performing the consummation act.”

She turned to Mr. Fairfax. “In that case, our funds would be far better spent buying your debts back and keeping you out of gaol.”

“Exactly. With luck, we won’t need to worry about pursuing parliamentary intervention.”

“Until then, we’ll share a bedchamber—but that’s all we’re sharing.”

He frowned. “I’ve no intention of exercising marital rights. Until I’m no longer bound for gaol, my only desire is to buy back my debts.”

“I don’t just mean… consummation.” Charlotte’s cheeks flushed. “I mean no physical relations at all. Not even a kiss. Until we know whether we’ll still be wed a fortnight from now, we should endeavor to remain strangers.”

“Not friends? Even temporarily?” Mr. Fairfax raised a wry brow. “I cannot blame you. Even once you’re granted an annulment, I will have done nothing to enrich your life.”

“Friends, then,” she said, although she suspected opening her heart even a sliver could only lead to heartbreak. “For the next fortnight.”

After all, if they did manage to extract him from his gambling debts… What if they could make their marriage work?

The barrister rose from his seat. “You have plenty to discuss, so I shall leave you to determine your fates. Feel free to contact me if I may be of further service. I shall hold this conversation in the utmost privacy.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said fervently. “Your concern for privacy in this matter is very much appreciated.”

As soon as Mr. Oldfield was out of earshot, Mr. Fairfax let out his breath. “Impotence. If I cannot see my way out of my debts, I will grant you an annulment based on non-consummation due to impotence. I’ll claim a horse’s hoof caught me in the wrong spot, and I am no longer capable of performing my husbandly duty.”

“You’ll be a laughingstock,” she said, her words soft.

“I’ll be in gaol,” he corrected grimly.

“And when you got out?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I’ll have undergone a miraculous recovery. Too late for our marriage, but not too late to resume one’s rakehell ways.”

“Of course it’ll be too late.” She stared at him. Hadn’t he listened to the barrister? “You’d be a social pariah.”

“Not for being an impotent rakehell. For having spent years rotting in gaol.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “That assumes I’m ever released from debtors’ prison, of course. A highly improbable circumstance. Which is why my first priority has to be staying out of gaol in the first place.”

“And your second priority?” she asked.

His eyes met hers. “Ensuring we can claim non-consummation in the event I fail to repay my debts and must grant an annulment. Or a divorce.”

Charlotte nodded slowly. Blasted predicament. He was right.

Outside of his financial quandary, Mr. Fairfax seemed like a pleasant enough person—certainly the most considerate man of Charlotte’s acquaintance—but if it came down to losing both her husband and her possessions or allowing a divorce to shred what little was left of her reputation but getting her life back… Well. She would have to be practical. If he went to gaol for life, she would have to divorce him if they were denied an annulment.

The wisest move would be to guard her heart and her virtue until they had reason to believe he would still be here one month hence. Charlotte would do her best to help him, but she could not afford to become overly attached to a man who was fated to leave her.

He lowered his gaze to her ears and grimaced. “Try not to flash your jewels. Although the debt collectors promised me two weeks, I cannot swear they will be men of their word. But don’t worry. I’ll straighten things out when we get to London.”

Would he? Could anyone? Fear chilled her flesh.

She removed her earrings and curled her trembling fist about them for safekeeping. These were her only ties to her father. To someone who might love her and never leave her. She would protect them with her life.

As much as she missed her mother, Charlotte would not be returning to London until she found her father.

No matter what it took.